


About Last Night...

by Kittenmommy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Mild Language, Sexual Content, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenmommy/pseuds/Kittenmommy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Doctor, are you all right?”</p><p>He stares at her.  </p><p>“Unless I’m mistaken, <i>Clara</i>, we’ve just woken up in bed together <i>again</i> and I’ve <i>no idea</i> how we got here.  <i>Of course I’m not bloody all right!</i>”</p><p>She feels a bit stupid now.  </p><p>“Yeah, OK, good point.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	About Last Night...

**Author's Note:**

> _Doctor Who_ belongs to the BBC and I'm not making any money from this.
> 
> Warnings for: Mild swearing and (mild?) sexual situations. Nothing explicit, but still.
> 
> You'll notice that I didn't warn for Non-Con. That's because this _isn't_ Non-Con. Saying any more than that would be spoiler-y!
> 
>  **ADDITIONAL** : If someone could explain WTF "Whoffaldi" is, I'd appreciate it. I'm seeing that tag everywhere but I can't figure out what it is. Also... "Whoffle"? I can't even begin to figure out that one. :p
> 
> Thanks in advance!
> 
>  **ADDITIONAL ADDITIONAL:** Thanks to "Random Person" for explaining those tags to me. I've since added them to this fic! Thank you so much! :D

Clara wakes. 

She’s wrapped up in blankets but she’s still freezing cold. 

Her head feels strange and her mouth tastes like peaches.

She yawns, stretches, and opens her eyes.

The room is very dimly lit by the same sort of white lights rimmed in blue that adorn the walls of the console room. 

_Why is it so cold in here?_ she wonders.

Oh. It’s probably because this isn’t her bedroom.

This isn’t her bedroom and it’s not her bed.

And she’s naked.

And she’s not alone. There’s faint snoring going on beside her.

She rolls over and… 

The Doctor is sleeping peacefully. 

Despite the cold, he’s not wrapped up in blankets. In fact, he’s bare-chested, sprawled out beside her. The blankets are pooled down around his waist, and she’s pretty sure that they’re all that’s preserving his modesty.

 _Oh my God, what_ the hell _did we do last night?_ she wonders.

Suddenly, his eyes pop open and he turns his head, seeing her. His eyes seem bluer in the subdued lighting.

And they’re growing bigger and filling with realization as she watches.

He gives an inarticulate cry and backs away from her so fast that he actually rolls off the edge of the bed and falls on the floor.

This is followed by a whole lot of angry shouting in a language that the TARDIS’s translation matrix apparently can’t or won’t handle.

Clara scrambles across the bed and peers down at him over its edge, her eyes huge.

“Doctor?” she asks timidly. “Are you OK?”

He’s staring up at her in amazement. Or dismay. Amazed dismay?

Oh, and – _bonus!_ – he’s _definitely_ naked too. There’s absolutely no question about it now. 

He seems to realize this at the same time she does, because he reaches up and pulls the edge of the blanket down to cover himself.

Finally, he finds his voice.

“What,” he says flatly. 

It’s not a question, but she attempts an answer anyway.

“I don’t know, Doctor,” she says. “I don’t know how we got here.”

And it’s true.

She doesn’t remember _anything_ from the previous night, and she tells him so.

“Neither do I,” he admits.

“Well, _that’s_ just terrific.”

He has no answer for this.

“So… um…” she begins.

“Yes?” 

He’s not even looking at her now, and he’s blushing.

“Not really doing so well with the whole ‘Clara, I’m Not Your Boyfriend’ thing, are we?”

He turns his head and glares up at her without replying.

* * *

After a brief stop in her own room to shower and get dressed, Clara finds the now fully-dressed Doctor in the console room, bent over the controls.

“Clara,” he says without looking up.

“That’s me,” she agrees, trying for a casual tone.

There is a very awkward silence.

She clears her throat. 

He fiddles with a dial.

“So,” she finally says. “I’m not sure that we’d have to worry… I mean, you’re an alien and all, but I thought I should tell you… ah, I’ve got an IUD.”

He looks up at her then. 

“So, you’re certain that we…” 

She blushes, looks at the floor.

“Yeah. We sure did.”

He doesn’t ask her how she knows, and she doesn’t volunteer an explanation. This whole situation is mortifying enough as it is without her going into explicit detail about it. Besides, he’s meant to be a doctor, isn’t he? Surely he can work it out on his own.

He exhales explosively.

“Yeah, I thought we had,” he agrees. He runs a hand through his hair. “Clara, I’m so sorry – ”

“For what? We don’t even know what happened!” She frowns. “Unless you’ve remembered something…”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, well that’s just _brilliant_ then, isn’t it?”

“’Brilliant’ isn’t the word I’d have chosen.”

“I’ll bet!” She begins to walk around the console toward him, and watches as he circles in the opposite direction. 

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she explodes. “I’m not going to tackle you to the ground and have my wicked, wicked way with you!”

He stops moving.

“Right,” he agrees, sounding more like he’s reminding himself rather than agreeing with her. “Right. Right. Sorry.” He flips a switch and turns another dial. 

She suddenly realizes that the TARDIS is in flight.

“Where are we going?”

He looks up at her. “Back to wherever we were last night.”

She frowns. “Is that a good idea?”

“Have you got a better one?” he counters.

“Breakfast?”

He sighs. “Yes, all right. It’ll be a bit before we get there.”

“Might as well eat something, then.”

She walks out of the console room and he follows her to the TARDIS kitchen.

* * *

Clara wakes.

Her head feels strange and her mouth tastes like peaches.

Light is coming in from the huge window. It’s diffused slightly by the gossamer curtains.

This isn’t her bedroom and it’s not her bed.

And she’s naked.

And she’s not alone. There’s faint snoring going on beside her.

She rolls over and… 

“ _Oh no, not_ again _!_ ” she thinks.

Though Clara finds the temperature quite comfortable, the Doctor apparently doesn’t. He’s flung all the covers off – and yeah, he’s naked too, _surprise_! – and there’s sweat running down the side of his face.

She glances around, taking a brief inventory of their surroundings.

There’s the TARDIS, parked in a little alcove. She hadn’t thought that they were on board (because of the window), but now she knows for sure.

Carefully, so as not to wake the Doctor, she slides out of the bed. 

There’s clothing all over the floor. 

She picks up the first piece she reaches, which turns out to be the Doctor’s dark purple shirt, and puts it on.

As she buttons it, she walks to the window and parts the gossamer curtains slightly. Whatever this building is, they’re on an upper floor. She sees tall buildings and a couple of bridges.

She doesn’t recognize the city’s skyline, but she suspects that they’re on Earth.

She lets the curtains fall shut and pads over to the desk. There’s a leather folder there that looks a bit like a menu, and she picks it up and opens it.

It’s a room service menu.

“[The Omni William Penn Hotel](http://tinyurl.com/knrzvt6),” she reads aloud (but quietly). “Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Hmm. So that’s where we are.”

She hears the Doctor stirring behind her and she turns, putting the menu down.

“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” she says, trying for a light tone.

He groans and rubs his eyes.

“What… where…”

“Yeah, the ‘where’ part I can answer.” 

She pads over to the bed and sits down on the edge farthest from him. She hears the covers being pulled up, but she still doesn’t look at him as she speaks. 

“The ‘what’… well, that’s another story.”

“Why’s it so bloody hot in here?”

Now she turns to look at him, puzzled. “It’s really not, you know.” She frowns. “Doctor, are you all right?”

He stares at her. 

“Unless I’m mistaken, _Clara_ , we’ve just woken up in bed together _again_ and I’ve _no idea_ how we got here. _Of course I’m not bloody all right!_ ”

She feels a bit stupid now. 

“Yeah, OK, good point.” She sighs. “I was just worried you’re getting sick or something.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’re obviously hot.” She realizes that what she just said has other connotations, and she blushes. “I mean, you’re sweating and – ”

“Yes, I know what you meant,” he says impatiently. “My body temperature’s lower than yours.” 

“Yeah, I know.” She tries to make a joke of it. “You’ve _literally_ got cold feet!”

“Very funny.” 

“But… we’ve been all kinds of places and I’ve never seen you like this.” He gives her a look. “All sweaty, I mean,” she amends hastily, and then realizes that that sounds pretty bad too.

“Well, there are ways to compensate for ambient temperature… metabolically, I mean.” He waves a hand. “It’s complicated. And it’s impossible to maintain while I’m asleep. And I’ve just woken up and I still don’t know what’s going on, so for me, it’s much too warm in here.”

 _Well,_ she thinks, _That explains why he keeps his room on the TARDIS so cold._ She hadn't thought about it at the time, but it makes sense.

“And speaking of here,” he continues, interrupting her thoughts. “Where are we? Is this Earth?”

“Yeah. We’re at a hotel. Ever been to Pittsburgh?”

“No.”

“Well, you have now.”

“Have you any memory of last night at all?”

“No. You?”

“No. And I suppose we…” He doesn’t finish this thought.

She nods. 

And then just to yank his chain, she shifts her hips slightly on the bed and says, “Squish, squish.”

He winces.

“I’m glad I’ve had my shots,” she continues. “God alone knows all the places _you’ve_ been.”

 _This_ earns a glare.

“So, Doctor, what do we do now?”

He raises an arm to cover his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admits.

“Well, that’d be a first.” She stands. “I’m going to have a shower. Why don’t you fetch us some coffee?”

“I told you, I’m not the fetching sort. And besides, you’re wearing my clothes,” he points out, eyes still covered. “I don’t think they’d appreciate me going for coffee like _this_.”

Though he can’t see her, she grins wickedly. “You never know!”

* * *

They’re sitting at a table in the hotel’s restaurant, having breakfast.

“Still no plan?” she asks, adding sugar to her coffee.

“No.” He spears a sausage with his fork like it had personally offended him. “Our last attempt at going back to where we were was a dismal failure. Seems foolish to try it again.”

She nods. 

“All right.” She reaches for the saltshaker and salts her scrambled eggs. “So,” she continues, taking a bite of eggs. “The other morning, on the TARDIS? In your room?”

He looks up at her. 

“What about it?” he asks warily, all of his defenses obviously up and on Red Alert.

“What was all that stuff you were shouting?” She takes another forkful of eggs. “The TARDIS didn’t translate it.”

He takes a sip of coffee. 

“That was Gallifreyan. The TARDIS didn’t translate it because… ah, I suppose some of the terms I was using were untranslatable.”

She laughs at this – a real, actual laugh – and she sees his shoulders relax a bit.

“Yeah, I can imagine! You’d just fallen out of bed, after all.”

“Not the best start to the day,” he agrees.

“Say something else,” she says suddenly. “In Gallifreyan, I mean.” She puts down her fork and gives him her full attention. 

He eyes her even more warily. “Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno. Something funny.”

His eyebrows go up. 

“Something funny?” he repeats dubiously.

She nods enthusiastically.

“My people were not an especially funny people.”

“All right, well just say something else then. Whatever comes to mind.”

He thinks for a moment. 

“I’d have to bypass the translation matrix.”

“You’re a clever boy,” she reminds him lightly, sipping her coffee. “You’ll figure it out.”

He pokes at his eggs with his fork, deep in thought. 

Finally, he looks up at her and says something in a language unlike anything Clara has ever heard.

She sits up straighter in her chair, eyes widening.

“Say that again?”

He does; a stream of flowing, liquid-sounding alien words that’s almost like a song.

She’s absolutely enthralled.

“Doctor, that’s _beautiful_ ,” she breathes. “What does it mean?”

He shrugs offhandedly. “Please pass the salt.”

She picks up the saltshaker and hands it to him. 

“So what’s it mean?” she asks again.

He frowns. 

“That’s what it means,” he says, waving the saltshaker for emphasis. “‘Please pass the salt’.”

“Oh.” She’s not sure if she’s disappointed or not. She sips her coffee. “So, you’re always speaking like that, but I hear English?”

He shakes his head, and it occurs to her that he looks sad.

“No, I speak English when I’m on Earth and in an English-speaking area.” He takes a forkful of eggs. “Easier that way. No chance of a mistranslation.” 

She nods.

“I was here for quite a while during the seventies…” He looks thoughtful. “…or was it the eighties?” He waves a hand dismissively. “Never mind, I was here long enough to learn the language.” And now there’s no doubt about it; he _definitely_ looks sad. “Before today, I hadn’t spoken Gallifreyan in a very long time.”

Realization dawns. “Oh,” she says. “Yes. Yes, I see. And I’m sorry.”

He nods silently.

Can’t really speak a language when there’s no one else to speak it with.

They finish their breakfast in silence.

* * *

A cold hand is shaking her awake.

“Clara!”

“What?” she mumbles.

“Wake up!”

She opens her eyes.

Her head feels strange and her mouth tastes like peaches.

She opens her eyes.

The Doctor is looming over her, shaking her by the shoulder. “Wake up!”

“All right, all right, I’m awake!” she protests. 

It takes her a second to realize that they’re in her bedroom in her apartment, in her bed. 

And – oh yes! – they’re naked. Of course they are! Business as usual nowadays, apparently.

“Oh bloody hell, not _again_!” she groans.

“Yes, _again_!” he almost shouts, wild-eyed. 

His short hair is sticking up, his eyebrows are crazy, and he looks like a lunatic. But she supposes that’s only natural, under the circumstances. She probably looks like a lunatic, too.

She pulls away from him and sits up, not even bothering with the covers. She figures that by now, he’s seen all there is to see. 

Even if neither of them remembers any of it.

“Do you remember anything?” he asks, as though reading her mind.

She shakes her head. “No, not a thing. You?”

He actually sighs. “No.”

“Doctor, _what the hell is happening to us_?”

“I don’t know!” Now he actually _is_ shouting, and she can hear the desperation in his voice. “I wish I did! I – ” His voice breaks off in midsentence. 

She watches his reflection in the mirror as he opens and closes his mouth experimentally. He licks his lips.

“Clara, do you taste… peaches?”

She turns and looks at him, wide-eyed. 

It’s all the answer that he needs.

“To the TARDIS!” he yells, throwing the covers back and bounding out of bed. 

He runs out the door. She can hear his bare feet pounding down the hallway toward the living room.

“Doctor!” she calls. “Don’t you want your clothes?”

* * *

The TARDIS materializes, and with a flash of crimson-lined coat, the Doctor darts out the main doors before Clara can even say a word.

She follows him out at a more sedate pace.

It’s an alien marketplace.

She sees stalls filled with products she can’t name and manned by aliens she could have never imagined. She doesn’t really have time to take in the sights, though, because she’s in danger of losing the Doctor in the crowd. She hurries to catch up with him.

She glances around and finally spots him at a fruit stand, arguing with its very human-looking owner. She hurries over to join him.

“ – did you sell me?” the Doctor is demanding, angry eyebrows in full force.

“These,” the dark-skinned, light-eyed man replies, gesturing at a pile of small, rather innocuous-looking green fruit. The man smiles. “I am very glad you both enjoyed them so.”

“Enjoyed them?” Clara asks, and the Doctor turns to stare at her. Obviously, he hadn’t heard her approach.

The man’s smile widens.

“You came back for more. Twice.”

Clara and the Doctor exchange a look.

“We _never_ came back here,” Clara reminds the Doctor. “We’ve never even _been_ here!”

“According to the TARDIS, we certainly have,” he tells her grimly. “I told her to bring us to our last destination, and her records also show that this is where we came before both of the other… ah… _incidents_.”

“Oh.”

The Doctor turns back to the fruit vendor. 

“What are they?” he demands, pointing at the offending fruit. “What do they do?”

The man looks bored. 

“It is exactly as I told you before. They ah… loosen inhibitions. And they can cause a slight… _amnesia_.”

Clara is staring at him, horrified. 

“They’re a date rape drug!” She turns to the Doctor, outraged. “He sold us _a date rape drug_!”

Suddenly, the fruit vendor is quite animated.

“Nono!” The man protests vigorously. “No!” He stabs a vehement finger in the air. “No rape! Any… ah…” He clears his throat. “Any… effects like that…” He clears his throat again. “Well.”

“ _Explain_ ,” the Doctor demands, his voice down in the subzero range.

“The fruit… it… it does not only loosen inhibitions.”

“Lower,” Clara corrects like the schoolteacher she is. “ _Lower_ inhibitions.”

She hears the Doctor mutter something under his breath that sounds like _bloody translation matrix_.

“Lower inhibitions,” the vendor agrees. “No, that is not all that they do.”

“ _What else?_ ” the Doctor fairly snarls, and the fruit vendor backs up a few paces.

“Ah… you see, this fruit… colloquially it is called ‘Wish Fruit’.” 

The Doctor starts to move forward, but Clara stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Wish Fruit?” she repeats, her tone inviting him to elaborate. 

“Yesyes!” He nods enthusiastically. “You see, when it is eaten, it… well… you will allow yourself your greatest desire.”

“Your greatest desire,” the Doctor echoes numbly, very carefully not looking at Clara.

“Yesyes!” the vendor says again, grinning and nodding even more vigorously. “Nothing illegal of course. And nothing you would not normally do.”

“Like hypnosis,” Clara suddenly says, and the Doctor turns to look at her. “If you’re hypnotized, they can make you act like a chicken or something. But they can’t make you do something against your moral code, like murder or whatever.”

“Yesyes!” the vendor says again, enthusiastically. “The fruit… it allows you to embrace your greatest desire. But not if it is something you would normally find abhorrent.” 

He reaches out with a gloved hand and picks up one of the small green fruits.

“Looklook,” he says, holding it out to Clara. “Here. Doesn’t it smell just so lovely and – ”

* * *

Clara wakes.

Her head feels fine, and her mouth doesn’t taste like peaches.

She’s alone on her own bed in her own bedroom in her own apartment.

And she’s not naked.

She’s fully clothed and laid neatly on the bed, on top of the covers.

 _OK, this is new,_ she thinks.

She sits up and looks around.

The Doctor is nowhere in sight.

Is this it, then? Has he left her? After all, he made it perfectly clear that he’s not her boyfriend. God only knows what he’s made of the past several days… but she doubts it’s anything good.

“Doctor?” she calls, not really expecting a response.

Which is good, because she doesn’t get one.

* * *

Clara has showered and made herself a cup of tea.

She’s in her living room in her favorite chair, wrapped up in a nice warm bathrobe, sipping tea and staring off into space.

The Doctor hasn’t come back.

And he hasn’t phoned, either. And she _knows_ he has her number; he phoned her from bloody _Trenzalore_ , after all.

Danny Pink, on the other hand, _has_ phoned. 

Six times. 

And each time, she'd hit her iPhone’s top button and sent the call directly to voicemail.

She can’t deal with Danny right now.

Hell, she can barely deal with _herself_ right now.

Her memory of their final visit to the Alien Fruit Stand (as she’s begun calling it in her mind) is beginning to come back to her, and naturally it’s just as appalling as one would imagine…

* * *

_The fruit vendor reached out with a gloved hand and picked up one of the small green fruits._

_“Looklook,” he said, holding it out to Clara. “Here. Doesn’t it smell just so lovely and – ”_

_“Clara, hold your breath!” the Doctor shouted._

_Too late._

_The heady scent of ripe peaches filled her nose, and she suddenly felt dizzy. She swayed uncertainly on her feet for a moment, and then grabbed the Doctor’s arm for balance._

_“Seesee, how lovely and tempting it is,” the fruit vendor said with a grin. “Take a bite, my dear.”_

_“Clara – ” the Doctor began._

_She reached for the fruit and the Doctor knocked it right out of the vendor’s hand._

_“But Doctor,” she whined. “It smells delicious!”_

_“Of course it does!” the Doctor snapped. “It was designed that way!”_

_He turned his attention back to the fruit vendor, who was now cringing away from them._

_“Sir, pleaseplease – ”_

_“Don’t you start that nonsense with me!” the Doctor said very, very quietly._

_Clara suddenly realized that he was more furious than she’d ever seen him before. And that was definitely saying something._

_“Sir – ”_

_“You saw us come back here, what? Twice more? And did I demand answers from you? I cannot imagine that I didn’t.”_

_“I told you then what I’m telling you now – ”_

_“Yes. And I would bet that you held out fruit to us and invited us to inhale its scent. Didn’t you?”_

_“Possibly…”_

_He turned and looked down at Clara. “The active pheromone. It’s in the scent as well, Clara.”_

_“Oh, lovely,” she murmured. “That’s fantastic.”_

_“Kind Sir, Lovely Lady,” the fruit vendor said obsequiously, “I am so sorry that your experience was not to your liking. But I do nothing illegal, nothing wrong, yesyes? Every customer knows what they are purchasing. And the amnesia is usually… not as you experienced.”_

_“But it was to my liking!” Clara exclaimed. She could feel the sappy grin spreading across her face._

_The Doctor glanced down at her, concerned._

_“Come on, Clara. I think it’s time we got you home.”_

_“Oh, and to bed?” she asked hopefully._

_The fruit vendor tried and failed to hide a smirk._

_“You,” the Doctor pointed at him, and his eyebrows were angrier than ever before. “I am not finished with you just yet.”_

_Clara happily followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS._

* * *

Clara stands in front of the open refrigerator, wondering how it’s possible that the fridge is full of food and yet contains nothing she wants to eat.

She sighs and pours herself another cup of tea. Her iPhone vibrates in her bathrobe’s pocket, and she grabs it eagerly.

It’s Danny.

Again.

With another sigh, she sends him straight to voicemail.

She picks up her mug and carries it back to her chair in the living room, and settles in to sip her tea. She looks at the clock and realizes that she really should go to bed. 

She has an early day tomorrow… back to school. 

Back to her students.

Back to Danny.

This thought fills her with nothing but dismay.

* * *

_She stumbled into the TARDIS, clutching the Doctor’s hand and giggling like a fool._

_“All right, Clara, I think – ”_

_She grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her._

_“Clara…” he began warningly._

_She moved very close and put her hands flat on his chest, one over each of his hearts._

_“What?” she whispered._

_He stepped back._

_“No. You’re under the influence of a psychoactive substance. This isn’t you. This isn’t what you want.”_

_She moved forward again, this time giving no quarter, backing him right up against the control console._

_“Isn’t it?” she whispered. “’Your greatest desire’, that man said.”_

_“For God’s sake, Clara! Think! It’s nothing but a simple aphrodisiac! Nothing more!” His voice sounded a bit desperate._

_She shook her head._

_“No. No. No, it’s more than that. Because you are my greatest desire, Doctor. Always have been.”_

_He snorted and turned his face away from hers._

_“Maybe once. But I’m not pretty anymore.”_

_“Pretty’s never turned my head.”_

_“No? I’ve seen your Danny Pink!”_

_This surprised her. “What? Where?”_

_He waved a hand dismissively._

_“Never mind where. But I’ve seen him. He’s pretty.” He said the word like it tasted bad._

_“He may be pretty,” she agreed. “But do you know what he’s not?”_

_He shook his head._

_She grabbed the lapels of his coat and dragged him close, so that they were almost nose-to-nose._

_“He’s not you,” she whispered._

_For a moment, his eyes were locked with hers. They were both breathing hard._

_It seemed that he was going to kiss her, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back in anticipation…_

_And then he reached up and gently disengaged her fingers from his jacket._

_“I’m taking you home.”_

* * *

Clara is so tired the next day that she’s tempted to tell her students “just read quietly” so she can put her head down on her desk and take a nap.

But she doesn’t.

Somehow she makes it through the day.

Spending a whole day teaching while exhausted _and_ trying to avoid one of your fellow teachers is nearly impossible, but somehow she manages both.

Until she’s halfway out the door to the parking lot and she hears her name being called.

Her first impulse is to walk faster, but even in her current state she realizes that this would just be delaying the inevitable.

She turns, trying hard to put on a convincing smile. “Danny.”

He’s wearing a pink shirt today and that smile that used to make her knees wobble. _Why aren’t they wobbling,_ she wonders. _They must be tired too._

“Clara, I tried to reach you all night last night!” 

The unspoken _Why didn’t you answer your phone?_ sort of hangs uncomfortably in the air between them.

“Yeah, had a bad night last night,” she replies, trying to sound casual. “Lost a friend.”

His eyes fill with sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Clara. That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, well, it was my own _stupid_ fault. I opened my _big stupid mouth_ like the _bloody stupid idiot_ that I am.” 

The bitterness in her voice surprises even her, and Danny looks a bit taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, apparently unable to think of anything else to say. And really, what _can_ you say in a situation like this?

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done.”

He nods. “All right. Would you let me console you over a drink?”

She sighs.

“Danny, I’m so exhausted right now… all I want to do is go home and sleep. All right?”

For a brief moment, he looks disappointed, but he quickly recovers himself.

“Right, sure, I understand. Give me a raincheck?” he asks hopefully.

“Some other time, maybe.”

“Yeah, all right,” Danny agrees, and even in her exhausted state, Clara can see by his expression that he recognizes this as the dismissal that it is.

And now she feels awful. She at least owes him some kind of explanation, but she’s just so tired…

“Look, I’m sorry,” she finally says. “It’s just that it’s all so complicated right now. I really can’t handle more. You know?”

“Not really,” he says flatly.

“Everything’s such a horrible mess. You’ve no idea.”

“Well then, explain it to me,” he presses.

“I… I _can’t_. I’m sorry, Danny.” She’s so _tired_ that she can’t even _think_ , and she wishes that he would just go away.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure that – ”

“Danny, I slept with him.”

He draws back. “You what?”

“My friend. I slept with him. Three times, in fact. And I didn’t mean for it to happen, _neither_ of us _meant_ for it to happen, but it did and there it is and it’s all just such a bloody huge mess and I don’t know what to do. All right?”

He’s speechless.

“So. That’s that, then.”

He’s still speechless.

“I’ll see you around though, yeah?” she asks.

He finally finds his voice.

“Sure,” he agrees, very subdued.

When she resumes walking toward her car, he doesn’t follow.

* * *

By the time she makes it home, she’s so exhausted that she can barely stand up.

She slings her purse and her tote bag onto a chair and sinks down on the sofa, gratefully.

 _I’ll just close my eyes for a second,_ she thinks.

When the roar of materialization wakes her, she has a brief moment to realize that it’s now dark outside the windows; she’d been sleeping for a lot longer than “a second”.

And then the TARDIS impossibles into existence right in front of her. 

Clara wonders suddenly if she’s still asleep, and dreaming.

“Doctor?” she asks uncertainly. One of the doors swings open, slowly.

She gets up from the sofa and walks inside.

“Hello, Clara.” 

She looks up and sees him sitting in his wingback chair on the upper level of the console room.

“Doctor.”

He rises and walks down the steps, slowly.

“You came back,” Clara ventures.

He looks at her like she’s crazy.

“Of course I came back!” His expression changes, softens. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

She shrugs.

“I wasn’t sure. After how I acted last time…” She feels the heat rising to her face at the memory, and turns away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminds her, and his voice is much closer now.

“It didn’t affect _you_ this last time.”

“No. But I don’t have to breathe… at least, not the way you do.”

She turns to look at him, and he’s _right there_ , so close…

“You held your breath?”

“Something like that. I went back there, after I left you off at home. Had a word with that fruit vendor.”

She nods approvingly. “Gave him what for?”

He smiles at this. “I’m sure you can imagine.”

She laughs.

“Oh,” he adds, very offhandedly. “And I analyzed the fruit.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Did you?”

He’s holding himself very stiffly, very controlled. Almost as though he doesn’t trust himself.

“Yes. I was wrong.”

“Never!” she says teasingly. 

He ignores this.

“They’re not an aphrodisiac.”

“No?” _This conversation is like pulling teeth,_ she thinks.

“No. They’re used by the Pamonii of Quadravale in a religious ritual.”

“I… wow. Really?”

“Yes. The fruit opens their minds, expands their awareness of the Universe. They believe that eating the fruit allows them to touch the Face of their God.”

“That’s amazing,” Clara says, because it is.

He nods. “And for them, the experience comes _without_ the amnesia.”

“Good thing. Wouldn’t be much of a religious ritual if they couldn’t remember it.” She takes a breath. “So then…”

“So then the fruit was obviously stolen!” he tells her in a completely different voice, his _I’m-Explaining-It-All-To-You-Now!_ voice. “The Pamonii consider them objects of religious veneration. They are used only by the high priests and priestesses in rituals that must never be spoken of to outsiders.” He pauses. “They were very happy to have their fruit back.”

“I’m sure they were! And our friend the fruit vendor?”

“He’s decided that it would be best to seek out other avenues of employment,” the Doctor says drily.

She snorts. “I’ll just bet!” She thinks for a moment. “So why didn’t we get to touch the Face of God, too?” And then, before she can stop herself, she adds: “We touched all sorts of other things, though. Apparently.”

He gives her a look.

“The fruit doesn’t work the same way on us as it does on the Pamonii.”

She frowns. “You and I aren’t even the same species!”

“No, but it seems we’re close enough biologically so as to make no difference to the fruit.”

“All right. So what does the fruit do to people like us? Non Pamonii?”

“It… the fruit…” He takes a deep breath. “It unlocks the mind, opens it to possibilities that have always existed… the sort of possibilities that we often shut away deep inside and try very hard not to think about.” He’s not looking at her now. “No matter how much we may desire them.”

She opens her mouth, then thinks better of what she was going to say and closes it again.

“So it’s just as the fruit vendor told us,” she finally says, very quietly. “Our greatest desires.”

“Clara… I’m sorry.”

She steps back and looks up at him. “For what?” she asks a bit defenisvely, crossing her arms.

“For… for _all of this_. This whole situation. I didn’t mean…”

Clara softens.

“It’s all right, Doctor. It’s not your fault. And there’s no harm done.”

“Isn’t there?” He’s watching her carefully now. “I hope… I hope we’re still friends.”

“Of course we are.” She had tried for a light tone, but failed miserably. The lump in her throat is making it difficult to talk. “We’ll always be _friends_ , won’t we?”

She looks up at him, can fairly _see_ the wheels turning behind his eyes.

“I hope so,” he finally says.

And then he steps forward and gathers her into an embrace.

“I thought you’re not a hugging person now,” she says, even as she puts her arms around him and pulls him closer, as close as she can.

“I was told that I don’t get a vote.”

She goes cold inside.

She pulls away slightly, so that she can look up at him.

“No,” she says quietly. “You get a vote. We _both_ get a vote. That fruit – ”

He smiles very gently.

“Clara, it’s all right.”

And suddenly, she realizes that yes, it _is_ all right. She rests her head on his chest, listening to the double beat of his hearts.

“So, where to next?” she asks, without raising her head.

She hears the deep rumble of his voice: “Everywhere.”.

FINIS.

**Author's Note:**

> ADDITIONAL: That bit from “Deep Breath”? About how the Doctor doesn’t actually sleep except when other people are talking? Yeah, I’m not buying that one. Authors who’ve taken that to heart have (in my opinion) forgotten that the Doctor wasn’t really in his right mind when he said that stuff and it should probably be taken with a grain or possibly a boulder of salt. ;)


End file.
